


what spreads beneath the surface

by vvelna



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Car Accident, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Injury, reference to throwing up, there's not much plot here tbh, this mostly takes place in phil's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: Phil has a complicated relationship with his emotions. A traumatic accident complicates things further.





	what spreads beneath the surface

Phil valued his privacy. Not just in regards to his life and his relationship with Dan, but also in keeping his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. He shared many of them with Dan, although not all. He opened the door for Dan. Not for his fans. Sometimes he pulled up the blinds and let them peek through a window, but there would always be a wall between him and them.

Phil didn’t want to feel vulnerable or exposed. And at the same time, he did. The desire to be known and understood was always at war with the fear of the very same thing. He knew you couldn’t seek validation without finding judgment as well.

The line between AmazingPhil and Phil Lester wasn’t really a line at all. It was the edge of the sea pulling against the sand. Wavy, always moving. It was easily broken by stones cropping up in its way, like unforeseen obstacles he had to find a way to move around, and constantly disturbed by feet coming too close, like people always trying to breach his carefully constructed boundaries.

He wanted to be himself. He wasn’t sure what that entailed. He knew no matter how much he held back—in front of a camera, on a stage, in a crowd—he wasn’t someone else. Even deprived of the full picture, the elements displayed were still genuine.

There was another aspect to Phil's reticence that ran deeper. It didn’t stop at videos and public image. It was a guilt he couldn’t shake whenever he wanted to complain about something that he knew paled in comparison to what someone else was going through.

It wasn’t right to talk about feeling sad when Dan had depression. Phil couldn’t indulge too much in letting himself cry and be miserable when the love of his life had it so much worse. He cloaked his dark moods in trivializing words. _I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m just a little cranky. I need coffee. I’m fine. Everything’s fine._

He couldn’t talk about the pain in his chest and the numbness in his hands whenever he was unexpectedly thrust into a social situation he hadn't prepared for. He’d performed on stage in front of thousands of people, had hundreds of thousands of conversation with fans. He dealt with people all the time. Some people had real anxiety—debilitating, overwhelming. He shouldn’t make a big deal out of a little nervousness. The sweat and nausea and urge to sink through the floor were always manageable. He would let his eyes glaze over and fix a tight smile to his face. _I’m fine. Everything’s fine._

He couldn’t complain about physical pain too much either. Nothing beyond purposefully melodramatic little stories about his motion sickness and silly anecdotes about flu jabs and bruised legs. If he had to lie in the dark for a few hours to get through a headache, so be it. That was nothing compared to the pain one of his friends went through when she had migraines that kept her horizontal for days. He was fine. He’d survive.

So as Phil lay in the hospital bed as still as possible and willed the pain meds to kick in faster, he was already trying to think about how he was going to spin his latest misadventure into a light-hearted story. Like his video about throwing up at the gym. He didn’t talk about sitting in the shower and crying once he got home—exhausted, ashamed, and hating himself for his inability to say no to a stranger no matter how much they were hurting him. He made it funny. It _was_ funny. Life was like that—the harrowing and the humorous often intertwined.

Or like the time Dan was out being a competent, inspiring human being while he sat at home waiting for a Christmas tree delivery from a strange man in a kilt. Phil hadn’t gone into great detail about how genuinely scared he’d been, how desperately he’d wished he wasn’t sitting in their flat alone, watching the little tracker on his phone, jumping every time he heard footsteps in the hallway. He was able to find the humor in that situation, too.

How was he going to find the humor in what had happened that morning as he was crossing the street?

Phil swiveled his eyes as far as he could without moving his head, to look at Dan asleep in the chair beside the bed. His chin was tucked against his chest, and Phil thought about how sore his neck would be when he woke up. When did Dan last eat? Drink? He must have been so tired and stressed out all day…

Dan stirred. Raising his head, he rubbed the back of his neck and opened his eyes. He turned to look at Phil, blinking and yawning.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice soft and surprised to see Phil’s eyes fixed intently on his face.

He reached out and placed a hand gently over Phil’s. Even just that tiny part of him radiated a comforting, familiar heat.

There were many things Phil wanted to say in that moment. Things like, _thank you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re here with me. You make me feel safe._ But all of those words carried the risk of his voice breaking on the last syllables.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. His voice broke anyway. It hurt to talk—physically and emotionally.

Dan must have still been groggy because he just squinted at Phil like he’d spoken gibberish.

“Why’re you sorry?”

Phil wasn’t sure how to answer. He supposed he was sorry for causing a mess, for putting Dan through an ordeal, putting the doctors through an ordeal, putting the driver of the car through an ordeal…putting himself through an ordeal and just generally being a disaster.

“For making you worry,” he managed to say.

Dan looked mad.

“Phil.”

He squeezed his hand a little too tightly but Phil made no move to pull away.

“Don’t you dare make this about me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said again, before he could even think to stop himself. He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, bracing himself for whatever angry thing Dan might say next, and had every right to say.

Dan let go of Phil’s hand and moved to rest it over the blanket covering his thigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk. I was really scared.”

“Me too,” Phil whispered. He meant the scared part, not the jerk part, even though he still felt guilty.

“But I’m fine now. You’re okay, so I’m okay,” said Dan, forcing a smile Phil knew was meant just to comfort him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The meds were finally kicking in and he felt calmer, warmer.

A broken clavicle and two broken ribs, a lot of bruising. It wasn’t the end of the world. It could’ve been so much worse. He could have died. Could’ve been in a coma, could’ve…

Phil stopped his train of thought before it could go any further. He got hit by a car. It was painful and scary and overwhelming and he was allowed to feel bad for himself. He was allowed to feel and he was allowed to express his feelings. Especially in front of Dan.

“I wish you could hold me,” he said, trying not to care how small and pitiful he sounded.

“I would if I could,” said Dan, and Phil knew he meant it. If it wouldn’t hurt Phil to crawl into the bed next to him and wrap his arms around him, Dan would have already done it.

Phil was starting to feel drowsy.

“D’you think should tweet?” he asked, words slurring as he let his eyes fall shut.

He wished his mind was clearer. He couldn’t just not say anything about what happened and disappear from the internet while he healed. He needed to say _something_. Nothing too serious, of course. He had to make sure he didn’t make anyone too upset. God, the fans were going to freak out…maybe he should just come up with some fake story to excuse his absence instead…

“Tweet?”

“Yeah, ’bout this.”

Dan barked out a laugh. “I think you can wait until we’re at least home from the hospital, babe.”

“Mmm, ’kay…”

Phil let himself relax into the warmth and pressure of Dan’s hand on his leg, let himself breathe just a bit deeper as the medication took the edge off the pain every breath caused. Let himself fall asleep, completely vulnerable.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote and decided to post this on a whim, so please excuse any typos. i'm not sure how coherent it is. but as always, thanks for reading :)


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